by Clare Chase
‘Okay then. I investigate and report on all things arts related.’
‘I see,’ I said, digesting this. ‘Who do you work for?’
‘I’m freelance. I went into Seb Rice’s gallery under a false name because I did some work on a mate of Seb’s a little while back. It was a bit controversial and made me very unpopular. And, as you can imagine, with a name like Darrick I tend to stick in people’s minds. On the other hand, although Seb knew my name, he wouldn’t know my face, so I figured I’d get away with it.’ He looked at me and I opened my mouth. ‘Eat,’ he said. ‘Dave’s mild-mannered but he does get cross if people let his food go cold.’
It was only when I’d finished every last bit of macaroni that he answered the question that had been on my lips. Of course, he had already known what it was before I voiced it.
‘You want to know what I was nosing into, the night I was at the gallery?’
I nodded.
‘Not Seb himself.’ He drained the last of his beer. ‘It was one of his rich contacts who’d been hauled in, in case he could be persuaded to buy a couple of Shakespeare’s paintings. More than that I cannot say, so don’t ask. Now, coffee?’
Whilst Darrick returned to the bar I sat back, nursing the last of my wine and thinking about what he’d said. It all sat far more easily with the impression I’d got of him. The whole thing seemed to make perfect sense now, except for one point: it didn’t explain the photograph Radley said he’d taken.
I could quite happily accept that Radley had imagined him following me and looking at me in a suspicious way, but now I was faced with what seemed to be the full facts, the photograph was the one thing ruining my new version of events. I’d told myself previously that she must have been mistaken, but now I wondered if that was really possible. If he’d definitely taken out his phone and held it up in front of him, what else could he have been doing?
‘Here.’ He arrived back at the table and the rich, bitter smell hit my senses as he put the steaming cup down in front of me. ‘So we’ve done me,’ he said, although I felt we had barely scratched the surface of that topic. ‘What about you?’
‘What about me?’
‘Tell me more about your work. You said you don’t normally write about arts stuff in particular, so what’s your field?’
‘I’m still deciding,’ I said. ‘I take whatever’s going, and see if it throws up anything interesting. Thanks to my university friends, who’ve all conveniently made it big, I’ve had a reasonable source of high-profile interviewees so far.’
‘So this is the gang of people you hung around with back in the days when you and Seb were studying together?’
I nodded, counting them off on my fingers: ‘Seb, of course, you know about, then there’s Terry Mallion.’
‘The chef?’
‘You’re well informed. That’s right. He’s doing really well now. He’s a great cook of course, but he’s also good at being outrageous and funny, so they’ve picked up on him for a couple of TV things, and I expect that will expand.’
‘What’s he like in real life?’
‘Very kind,’ I said. ‘He’d be hopeless on one of those programmes where you have to be all bolshie and mean to people. He’d keep accidentally patting his victim on the shoulder and making sure they were okay. I’m rather hoping his sort will come back into fashion.’
‘You sound fond of him.’
‘I am, very. I was living with him until a few weeks ago.’ I looked up and caught Darrick’s eye. ‘I mean, not living with him in that way. He’s gay. He was the best flatmate you could have, but I needed to come up to London. It’s better for work.’
Though actually of course, I could write articles about potato processing from anywhere. I took a sip of coffee and moved quickly on to the next member of our university group before he could ask me more about my writing.
‘So back to the gang from uni days. You might not have heard of Zoë Bannister. She’s a very successful businesswoman in New Zealand. I managed to do a feature on her for the Manchester Evening News; it’s her home city.’
‘Good one.’
I nodded. ‘And then there was Terry’s boyfriend at the time, Jeremy Ellis, Jez.’
‘Well that name’s very familiar. I just can’t place him for a moment.’
‘He’s an actor, up and coming, doing very well.’ I was surrounded by people who were doing very well. Occasionally I thought they must be over-achieving on purpose to give me a complex. ‘I’ve done a piece on him too. It’s possible I could just keep going round and round them all as their careers progress without interviewing anyone else at all.’ I drained the last of my coffee.
‘Shall we go for a walk?’ Darrick asked.
It was just what I felt like. The food and wine had made me dopey, in spite of the coffee. I followed him out of the pub, the cold air making me catch my breath as we left the cosy warmth behind.
We made our way towards the river and walked west in the direction of the National Theatre and the Royal Festival Hall. The wind whipped at our faces, blowing my long hair so that I had to keep pushing it out of my eyes. It was sunny though, and the low angle of the rays caught the ripples in the river, making the water sparkle as we walked by.
‘I should think Seb would be a good source of more stories. If he carries on being so quick to spot new talent he could probably serve you up with an artist a quarter. You said you were close.’
I laughed. ‘He probably could. But as far as closeness goes, “were” is the operative word.’
A boy whizzed past on rollerblades, narrowly missing me. Darrick put a protective arm around my shoulders for just a second. I found it hard to remember what we’d been talking about and longed for him to put it back again and pull me closer.
‘“Were”?’ Darrick said, dragging me back to reality. ‘I remember you said he was very busy these days and you mainly got to deal with his minions instead. But I presume you could arrange a meet up on purpose.’
‘I could,’ I said. ‘But there’s more to it than that, to be honest.’
‘Sounds complicated.’
‘It is. It all goes back to what happened a little while after we all graduated and Seb was just starting out.’ I pushed my hair out of my face for the umpteenth time. ‘He had a girlfriend back then, Julia Thorpe. She lived up in Cumbria, where Seb was brought up.’
He glanced at me, his blue eyes on mine.
‘They were completely taken up with each other – always on the phone, talking for hours. Then one morning he called her from London, but there was no reply. He didn’t know it, but the locals had already found her body – floating in Derwentwater.’
Chapter Seven
I shuddered. It was horrible, remembering. ‘There was no note, but Seb knew she’d been depressed. She’d taken a whole load of barbiturates and it was clear from her condition that she’d been in the water since late the night before. The police said she’d probably swum out until she couldn’t go any further. Then, in the morning, when the ferry started up again, its wake would have washed her body back towards the shore. It sounds awful, but the rest of us were hardly aware of how low she was at the time.’
‘You didn’t know her well then?’
‘Not really. I feel I should have taken care to get to know her better.’
‘I don’t suppose there was anything anyone could have done.’ He looked down at me. ‘And you were all studying in London, weren’t you? If Julia was based up in Cumbria it was inevitable that you wouldn’t see much of her.’
‘That’s true.’
We’d reached the Jubilee Gardens now, with the London Eye up ahead of us. A small child was running along, shouting joyously to a dog, his father taking a photograph.
‘Seb met her when he went home for the Christmas holidays during his second year. He comes from a tiny village in the Lakes. When he turned up at his parents’ place he found that the tenants of the big manor house round the corner had moved out, and Julia had appeared in the
ir place.’
‘Just Julia?’
‘That’s right; she was on her own, and only just eighteen. Poor girl. Now I look back, I wonder how any of us could have thought she’d be anything other than depressed. Both her parents had been diplomats, killed in an air crash in Kenya. She was at boarding school, taking her A levels, when it happened. Suddenly all that structure went from her life and at the same time she had the responsibility of being an heiress, in charge of a dilapidated old house in the middle of nowhere.’
‘Wasn’t there anyone to look after her?’
I shook my head. ‘Not really. I remember Seb saying there was some old man, but he wasn’t much use. I gather he was an army type her parents had nominated to look after her legal rights, and help her with money issues, if they died once she’d reached the age of eighteen. Any earlier than that and she’d have been the ward of some aged aunt in Aberdeen.’
‘Which doesn’t sound ideal either. So Seb took her under his wing? With the help of his parents maybe?’
As we walked past a gang of pigeons, scrapping over some bread dropped by a toddler, I thought wryly of Seb’s parents. ‘I don’t think they were involved,’ I said at last. ‘They didn’t even go so far as to look after Seb all that much.’
‘You met them?’
‘Oh just the once, very briefly at some posh drinks do in London. No, I only know because Seb opened up one evening and told me all about it. Their overriding concern was making money, and being successful. It didn’t leave much room for family life. But Seb certainly took Julia under his wing.’ I found myself sighing. ‘I think he fell for her as soon as they met. She was very striking.’
‘What was she like?’
‘She had this silvery quality about her. Her hair was very blonde and fine, and her eyes were grey, and absolutely huge. It was the first thing you noticed about her. She was tall, very slender, and quietly spoken. You always got the impression she was thinking just what to say before she said it.’ I suddenly felt as though I’d been babbling weirdly. ‘Not a bit like me,’ I added.
‘What happened next?’
‘For the rest of Seb’s time at university, they were besotted. She came to London periodically, but usually he just went to her. Julia couldn’t drive, so Seb used to dash up there at every opportunity in his VW. I went up once or twice too. Then Terry and Jez joined them for New Year, just a few months before Julia died. They said she seemed fine then. Quiet, but they assumed that was just her way.’
‘Did you see her again?’
‘Just the once. She came down to London to look at some of the art schools and we went out for a drink together. She was trying to work out what to do next. And then she invited me up to join them at Easter, but at the last minute Seb put me off. Someone else needed the guest room apparently.’ I remembered that, because it had hurt my feelings a bit. I was well aware that they had plenty of spare bedrooms. It seemed childish and self-centred of me now. ‘So anyway,’ I said. ‘That was it.
‘I think he preferred it when it was just the two of them anyway. He’d always been a bit of a party animal up until then, but at that point he suddenly seemed more settled. He didn’t encourage us to go up there much.’
The sun was getting very low in the sky and the temperature was dropping fast.
‘It must have been horrendous for him when it happened,’ Darrick said.
I nodded. ‘It was a weekend, and he was down here in London. Things were really taking off for him at the time. He’d been planning to go up and see her overnight, but there was pressure of work this end. It was all to do with the gallery.’
‘He already had it back then?’
‘Not quite, but almost. As a matter of fact I spotted that the building was for let. It’s in a prime spot and I didn’t think Seb could possibly afford it, but something made me mention it anyway. There was no way his parents would have put up the cash, but Seb always had an air of being able to work miracles when it mattered. When he spoke to the estate agent he found it had already been reserved by a woman called Mel Swann.’
‘Was that the woman he ended up going in with? Didn’t they get married?’
‘That’s right,’ I said. ‘Seb being Seb, he evidently found a way to meet her, and they decided to pool resources. On the day Julia died he was in a business meeting with Mel. They were so excited, and Seb was all set to tell Julia. And maybe she’d come down and do her art degree, and the whole thing would fit perfectly, and this, and that … He’d got it all worked out. And then the news came.’ I shuddered, and felt the hairs on my arms lift. ‘It still goes through me when I think about it.’
He put an arm back round my shoulder and pulled me in towards him. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve brought it all back.’
‘It’s okay. It’s been on my mind lately anyway, what with visiting the gallery and everything.’
‘So does Seb ever talk about Julia these days?’
‘Not as far as I know.’ I paused. ‘But then I wouldn’t know. He keeps all the old university gang at arm’s length. It’s as though he associates us with a time when everything was as good as it was ever going to get. If he sees us now he sees his past, and the memories are too much for him.’
I suddenly realised how far we’d walked and glanced at my watch. I knew I ought to be heading home. Sally had made me promise to check in with her on my return, just to be on the safe side. We started to make our way back towards Waterloo.
‘Where are you headed?’ he asked.
‘Hampstead.’
‘Nice location.’
‘I’ve got a room in my cousin’s house. She wanted to help me out with somewhere central to live.’
‘So are you making plenty of contacts?’
I paused for a moment too long, trying to think how to keep my end up. ‘It’s not going too badly. And now my cousin’s offered herself up as an interviewee. She’s the society caterer, Alicia Greenstock.’
‘You do mix with the rich and famous.’ I could tell he was laughing at me.
‘It’s not my fault,’ I said huffily. ‘And she’s a real pain to live with as a matter of fact.’
‘And after you’ve interviewed Alicia? What are your work plans then?’
I wasn’t sure if he sensed my insecurity. Did he want me to come right out and say I was floundering? ‘I’m going to see Radley again tomorrow,’ I said, ‘mainly to talk about the Shakespeare stuff, but I might probe and see what else is on the horizon. I’m determined not to give in, now that I’ve made the move to go into freelance journalism. Even if I do have to sub it by taking on some corporate copywriting … And you could be right about Seb putting more stuff my way.’
‘Maybe he’s trying to move on from what happened before,’ Darrick said. ‘Even if it’s Radley you’re meeting, Seb must be behind her approaching you.’
‘I suppose so.’
‘You might have grown apart,’ he went on, ‘but people do tend to remember old …’ He paused for a moment. ‘… friendships.’
There was something about the way he said ‘friendships’ that made me look up. He had used a slightly questioning note, and I had a feeling he’d mentally put inverted commas around the word.
Without really thinking I said: ‘And sometimes old friendships mean ongoing relations can be problematic.’ I realised too late that I’d put the same inverted commas round the word myself.
‘I see,’ he said, and I could tell he was drawing conclusions.
‘It was all such a long time ago.’
‘Not so very long.’
When we got to Waterloo Station he stood a few feet apart from me. He kissed me on the cheek before I got onto the tube, but didn’t mention meeting up again and I felt a stab of disappointment. As the train gathered speed, propelling me back to my ordinary life, the look in his eye stayed with me. I was sure he was judging me in some way, and I didn’t know what it meant.
Chapter Eight
The following morning I woke up in a disgruntl
ed mood after a very graphic dream about Darrick that had ended just at the wrong moment and was obviously destined never to come true. Then the instant I poked my nose downstairs I ran into Alicia. She was in bulldozer mode.
‘I can’t do your interview tomorrow morning after all,’ she said. ‘So it’ll have to be today; say ten o’clock.’ She glanced at her watch and sighed. ‘That should just about fit okay.’ She looked at me as though I was causing her the utmost inconvenience and seemed to have forgotten that the whole idea had been hers in the first place. ‘So come and find me at ten then,’ she said, and swept out of the room.
Crashing about in the kitchen helped me to let off steam, though my violent actions meant I spilt marmalade on the floor. I went back upstairs feeling bloody-minded. She might have caught me on the hop as regards to the timing of the interview, but I was going to make damn sure everything else about it went my way.
The change in schedule that morning was actually pretty inconvenient. I was due to be with Radley at the gallery by half-past two, and what with the final preparation I had been intending to do, together with the tube journey, I was a bit short of time. I huffed about my room, getting my voice recorder ready and inventing annoying questions to ask Alicia.
When I went downstairs she was in her sitting room.
‘I’d like to talk to you in the kitchen,’ I said, determined to take control.
‘But Sally might interrupt us if we’re in there.’
‘No. I mean your kitchen.’
From her expression, you’d think I’d asked to interview her in the lavatory. ‘Why?’
‘Because you’re a cook.’
She looked at me as though I’d gone crackers.
I sighed. ‘I want to describe you in your typical surroundings. I want to be able to tell readers about how you like to work, what kind of set-up you have, you know.’
She sounded exasperated. ‘Oh all right then. Come on.’ And she went on through to the room of gleaming stainless steel and stark lights.
It occurred to me that it all looked hard: the metal hobs and sink, the granite worktops, the stone floor. I could gear the piece so that the description came across as a metaphor for Alicia’s character … I took a deep breath. I really wasn’t going about this the right way.
